


Like a violin's bow

by CleverBlackCat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accompanying Playlist, Angst and Feels, Cullen Rutherford in Love, Developing Relationship, Eventual NSFWish, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Music, Mages (Dragon Age), Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, POV Cullen Rutherford, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Templars (Dragon Age), Violence, there is fluff too!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverBlackCat/pseuds/CleverBlackCat
Summary: "Yet everything that touches us, me and you, takes us together like a violin's bow, which draws one voice out of two separate strings."- Rainer Maria Rilke -Loryen Trevelyan loves two things above all else: music and peacefulness. She enjoys both, in the quiet and confined life she leads in the Circle of Ostwick. But before long, the mage-templar conflict catches up with the Free Marches, forever changing the history of Thedas. In this new world order, Loryen will have to find her place. Can she do so without losing too much of herself?Cullen Rutherford has two passions in life: duty and Loryen Trevelyan. He juggles both in his role of Commander of the Inquisition. Atoning for his past mistakes and making Thedas a better place are his priorities, but nothing is more important to him than his Inquisitor, who is struggling under the weight of  her responsibilities. As he faces his own trials, can he also help Loryen, without losing her?Mostly written from Loryen and Cullen's POVs, what was supposed to be a journey of self-discovery quickly became a love story. It is inspired by a carefully curated playlist of songs and airs, provided at the end of each chapter as the soundtrack to their story.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	Like a violin's bow

**Author's Note:**

> Loryen Trevelyan is my favorite OC, one I have spent months developing, and I had initially set out to write her journey. But the musical quotation, as it turns out, was the best summary for Loryen's story. She and Cullen, and their love for one another, completely tripped me and before I knew it, I was writing a love story. So I went along. Who am I to stand in the way of True Love?
> 
> As a writer, music greatly influences my work and in making Loryen a musician, finding musical inspiration became a part of the creative process. So I decided to include the songs I associate with each chapter.

**Wintermarch 9:41 Dragon**

Haven was a hive of activity and she wondered how she could feel so lonely surrounded by so many people.

In these unprecedented times, the Conclave had drawn many visitors to the small village. Mages and templars, of course, but also an array of Chantry officials, curious onlookers and merchants. The overall effect was one of considerable noise and hustle. Haven’s inhabitants, who stood in their doorways or at their windows, looked on with slight bemusement at the endless parade of strangers.

After the stillness of Ostwick, the crowds felt overwhelming to her, and she had sought refuge in the tavern. The small inn seemed to operate at full capacity. Additional tables, brought in to accommodate the ever-increasing influx of patrons, weren't enough and people were left standing. It became inevitable she would have to share her space with someone.

Before long, a group of men asked to join her. Templars. Her face grew hot under the scrutiny of their gaze. Even though no staff gave her away, she sometimes felt the word 'mage' was branded on her forehead. Her hair fell in front of her face when she lowered her head, and she did not push it away. Her meal was eaten quickly, eyes fixed on her plate, and as soon as she was done, she dropped a few coppers onto the table and left.

Once outside, her chest felt less constricted in the chilly afternoon air, and she took a deep breath in. Idle hours lay ahead of her and she decided to stroll to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Up there, on the hill, it looked more peaceful than the village, calling to her desire for quietness. Even from a distance, the building looked impressive.

The Chantry, to her right, appeared quaint in comparison. As she walked past it, a man leaning against the door frame caught her attention. His armour shone in the pale winter sunlight, but the crest emblazoned on the chest plate could not be seen under his red surcoat. Was he a templar? Not from Ostwick, anyway. So why did he look so familiar? When he whipped his head toward her, she averted her eyes, bringing the hood of her grey cloak over her head. Her stupid ginger hair always made her stand out everywhere and really, there was no point bringing unnecessary attention to herself.

On her way up the path, the memory of her brief visit to the Gallows popped into her mind, out of nowhere. Yes, that was it. He reminded her of the Knight-Captain she had met that day, over three years prior.

What was his name again? Rumford? No. Rudderford? That didn’t sound right either.

Truth was, she remembered little about him, other than the impression he was carrying a great weight on his shoulders, a certain sorrow behind his brown eyes.

Rutherford. That was his name.

Perhaps she should look him up later, to see if it was him. Maker knew a familiar face, in a sea of strangers, would be welcome.

Even if he was a templar.

*******

A pale sun was peeking through the clouds, warming his numb limbs. He had forgotten how cold Ferelden could be this time of year, and he was glad for the warm surcoat the Ambassador had given him. Still, it felt good to breathe in the clean mountain air. Every lungful seemed to clear the Kirkwall fog out of him. Or so it felt. But it couldn't quite push away the homesickness. He snorted. If someone had told him he would pang for Kirkwall, he would have laughed. And yet, there it was. Naively, he had thought that being back in his native country would feel like coming home, but this place was strange and foreign to him.

In the two months of his station in Haven, he had decided it was probably the most sedate village in Thedas, and that was saying something coming from a son of Honnleath. So far, this new chapter of his life had been uneventful. Dull, even, and boredom often found him looking for distraction anywhere. Of course, once the outcome of the Conclave was known, he knew his workload would pick up considerably. In the meantime , the scores of visitors would provide much needed amusement. As he leaned against the doorframe of the Chantry, he watched the comings and goings of the crowd.

Groups of people walked here and there, some already making their way to the Temple. It seemed strange to him mages and templars, who should be at each other’s throat, could somewhat cohabit in the quaint surroundings they had gathered to. They ignored one another, mostly, and no major incident or violence had erupted to date. He offered a quick prayer to Andraste that it remained that way.

The area where the tavern was located was the busiest spot, which was to be expected, and he wondered if the dwarf might be there. Perhaps he should check. It would be good to have someone to talk to.

A moment later, his gaze was drawn to a woman, who was coming from the inn. The sun highlighted the orange tones of her red hair, and his heart skipped a beat.

Could it be... _her_? Could she have found her way here?

Narrowing his eyes as he straightened up, he peered closer, but before he could see her face, she had turned away, her hood hiding her features. Her delicate frame was soon lost to him, swallowed by the surrounding crowd and he let out a sigh. Would he even recognise her if he saw her?

Closing his eyes, he tried to conjure up the face of the girl he had met in Kirkwall, when her Circle visited the Gallows all those years back. The usual frustration, stemming from his inability to recall her exact appearance, gnawed at him.

All that was left of her image was a riot of colours: orange, for her long, wavy hair; white, for her fair complexion; light brown, for the myriad of freckles on her skin.

And above all else, the magnificent blue of her eyes. _They_ had not gone past recollection. 

But it was foolish. She couldn’t be here. It was impossible.

As he had countless times before, he told himself to accept the beautiful mage from Ostwick would remain a hazy memory.

_Inspired by "Indigo home", by Roo Panes, which you can listen to_ **_[here](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6ndFs1wXuyPoV8aeW4AF16QcMDwB_Zr2) _ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. As a new writer, please know your interest and support mean the world to me.  
> I hope you have enjoyed the prologue. This is a work in progress and I am hoping to post chapters semi-regularly.
> 
> The playlist can be found on:  
>  _[Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/729EXcR8lNaGwJ1JEvtSUf?si=hafJYhFkT56GdDZZPoVYSg)_  
>  _[YouTube](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6ndFs1wXuyPoV8aeW4AF16QcMDwB_Zr2)_


End file.
